


the answer's on her lips tonight

by forfree



Category: Performer RPF
Genre: AND THEIR WORDS, F/M, I DECIDED THAT THEY WOULDNT FACETIME, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation but like u dont hear much abt it on drake's side, Phone Sex, THERE'S SOMETHING RELALY HOT ABOUT JUST RELYING ON THE SOUND OF SOMEONE's VOICe, TO GET U OFF, bc it's from bey's pov, i know smh but like i really had to get this out, i know wht ur thinkin tbh, like omg Heterosexuality, this is like my third time writing smut tfdssfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forfree/pseuds/forfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drake's not home to take care of Bey. Drake realizes that telephones and masturbation exist for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the answer's on her lips tonight

Ever since Drake left to go on tour a month ago, Beyoncé’s gone mad. She can’t seem to keep herself busy enough. She’s done everything from obsessively rearranging rooms in the house to attempting to take up new hobbies, such as sewing and knitting. 

 

Tonight, however, Beyoncé decides to spend some time on herself; she orders Chinese food and watches old reruns of Jersey Shore until she can’t stand to watch any more of them. She talks to a few friends on the phone, paints her nails to match the cherry red phone next to her bed, eats ice cream, and takes a nice bath.

 

After putting on her favorite silk robe and panties (after all, she  _ is _ being self indulgent tonight, so no bra for Bey), she lies in bed and reads a book. She’s so deeply engrossed in it that she jumps when the rotary phone on her night stand starts ringing.

 

“Hello?” she answers eagerly, hoping that the person on the other end of the line is Drake.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” comes Drake’s voice, low and smooth as ever. “How’s my girl doing?”

 

Beyoncé grins. “I’m great. I’d say that I were better than that, but you’re not here with me. I miss you so much,” she admits.

 

“You’re not the only one who feels that way,” Drake replies with a chuckle. “Staying in hotels and traveling is alright, but at the end of the day, I’d rather be with you. Bey, I hate not being able to see you.”

 

“I know,” Beyoncé says with a frown, “so how are you doing, babe?’

 

Drake sighs. “I’m alright,” he says. He sounds distant.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Beyoncé asks, concerned.

 

“I’m alright, I guess,” Drake says, his voice airy, “I’m just so lonely, you know? I don’t know what to do with myself.”

 

Beyoncé thinks about the possible meanings behind Drake’s words and smirks. “Oh, is that so?” 

 

“Yeah,” Drake answers quietly. “I’ve just been thinking about a few things.”

 

“Really? What’s on your mind, baby?” Beyoncé questions.

 

“You. Thinking about having you next to me, thinking about your body; thinking about getting my hands on you,” Drake says, his struggles to continue sounding nonchalant failing, hints of neediness in his tone.

 

Beyoncé hums quietly. “I like that,” she replies. Her voice is soft, yet deliberate as she innocently asks, “But just how much do you want me?”

 

“You know I want you- I need you,” Drake says with a soft, frustrated sigh.

 

“Keep talking,” Beyoncé says as she uses her free hand to brush her robe away from where it rests on her soft skin so that she can toy with the waistband of her panties. She pulls at it and smiles at the barely-there sting that results after she lets go.

 

“I need you here in this bed with me, I need to kiss you, I need to touch you- fuck, I need to touch you so badly,” Drake tells her. 

 

“Tell me what else is on your mind, baby.” It comes off as more of a demand than a simple request. Beyoncé hears a quiet groan from Drake on the other end of the line and bites her lip.

 

“What are you wearing?” Drake asks entirely too quickly.

 

Beyoncé’s hand slips down to her hip and makes its way back up, tracing the curves of her frame, her back arching as her hand meets the curve of her breast. Her fingers run along the strap of her bra as she speaks. 

 

“I’m wearing that robe you got me for my birthday last year; you know, the silky blue one, the one you said you regret buying because you can barely handle seeing me in it?”

 

Drake chuckles quietly. “You’re killing me.”

 

“Oh, then you’re gonna love this,” Beyoncé begins with a smile, pausing to listen to the short breaths that come from Drake and barely register with her because they’re so quiet; they burn themselves into her memory and drift about in her mind like spirits searching for a soul to settle in. Sinking in like fog, they make it hard for her to keep herself together.

 

“I love every single thing you do, Bey,” Drake says breathily. 

 

“Remember when we had sex before you left?” Beyoncé asks.

 

“Like it was yesterday,” Drake answers. 

 

“Well, do you remember that new pair of underwear I’d worn then- the white ones, with the lace on them? They’re my favorite pair, I’m wearing those,” Beyoncé tells him, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder and spreading her legs so that she can easily slip a hand between her thighs and tease herself. She listens to Drake breathe as her fingers brush against soaked fabric. The coiled cord from the telephone stretches and rests against her bare stomach, the bold red a stark contrast to her brown skin.

 

“I’d love to help you out with those myself,” Drake groans softly, “just want to take them off with my mouth and take my time with it so I can hear you beg for me to speed up.”

 

She rubs her clit through her panties and alternates between rolling her hips against her hand and applying slight pressure. A soft moan escapes her parted lips and her eyes close. 

 

“I missed that sound,” Drake says as if he’s awed, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

 

Beyoncé bites her lip and picks up the pace slightly. The pleasure makes her toes curl and she grabs the sheets on the bed (the same bed that Drake should currently be in), holding onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. “You always know just the right things to say to me, don’t you?” she utters blissfully, intending to sound cheeky and failing.

 

“I’ve been with you for too long to not know how you work, Beyoncé,” Drake admits, a short gasp punctuating his statement. “What makes you tick, what makes you cry, what gets you hot- All of it.”

 

Beyoncé decides that she’s had enough of her underwear and lets go of the sheets so that she can hastily peel them off. She sighs when cool air hits her freshly bared skin. “You’re so-”

 

“I want you so fucking badly,” Drake interrupts, his voice rough and his breathing heavy. “I want to kiss you until I’m breathless, I want to grab you by your waist and hold you and keep you close to me, I’m dying to have you all to myself again.”

 

Beyoncé circles her clit and a throaty moan falls from her lips at the lack of friction. “Selfish,” she rasps cutely. Her robe slips and slides against her skin as her body moves.

 

“I am. As soon as I get home, self control goes out of the fucking window, Bey,” Drake replies, “I don’t care when, I don’t care how, I’m getting my hands on you.”

 

With a whine, Beyoncé’s hips jerk. She tries her best to keep making conversation. “Really, now? Is that so?” she asks weakly.

 

“When I get home, I want you to sit on my face first,” Drake responds, “I think you’d be alright with coming all over my face- right?” 

 

The thought of his strong arms wrapped around Beyoncé’s thighs, keeping her still while he ate her out, made her shiver. She nods, quickly remembering that Drake couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she says quietly. 

 

Beyoncé hears Drake inhale sharply. She closes her eyes and sees him sprawled out on a bed in a hotel room, one out of the many he’s destined to stay in while he’s away from her; his toned body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he’s got a hand wrapped around his thick cock. She envisions the smile she knows so well making an appearance whenever he gets cheeky or knows that he’s got her wrapped around his finger. The only coherent thoughts running through her head are about him.

 

Drake’s voice pulls her out of her daydream.

 

“I can’t get enough of you, Bey,” Drake moans, “All I want is to have you pressed against the wall with your legs wrapped around me while I fuck you- I take it slow, go deep, just in case you need a reminder of what you missed out on.”

 

“Fuck!” Beyoncé hisses, rocking her hips against her hand fervently as she listens to Drake, pressure building in the pit of her stomach. She knows that they both won’t last long- there’s too much pent-up tension that they hadn’t even really thought about relieving until now.

 

“I want to hear you say my name,” Drake says. He’s almost at the end of his rope. Beyoncé can tell because he sounds desperate; it’s almost as if he’s begging her to speak up.

 

That sends her over the edge. She whimpers Drake’s name as she comes, her hips stuttering and her back arching. As she comes down from her high, she grabs her cell phone from where she’d left it sitting on the bed and takes a picture of herself sucking her fingers clean. Her eyes aren’t visible, but the rest of her body is- Beyoncé thinks it might be one of the best pictures she’s ever taken. She smiles proudly.

 

Drake comes shortly after she does, and she listens with a sleepy smile. The moment is bittersweet. She can’t help but to think about how much better she feels when she’s not lying in an empty bed.

 

“Aubrey?” Beyoncé asks softly.

 

“Yes?” Drake answers, sleepy-sounding and satisfied.

 

“You’re gonna keep your promises, right? You know, they say you shouldn’t make a girl a promise if you can’t keep it,” Beyoncé teases.

 

“What promises?” Drake asks, confused.

 

“All that stuff you said about letting me sit on your face and-”

 

“Oh!” Drake interrupts before going on humorously. “Girl, you know I’d never play games when it comes to that. I’ll run you through a complete list of all of the activities that’ll occur when I get home. Call it a schedule, I guess; first, obviously, you take a seat on my face. Second, obviously, I fuck you up against a wall- you know all of the mandatory stuff. Next, I think I might wanna fuck you on the kitchen counter. After that, I was thinking about the sofa? And then-”

 

Beyoncé giggles, texting the picture she’d taken to Drake. “Shut up! Really, though, you’d better come through, baby.”

 

There’s silence on Drake’s end of the line after Beyoncé speaks, and she waits eagerly for a sign that he got her text. She becomes very pleased when she hears a frustrated groan.

 

“Bey,” Drake says, annoyed. “You can’t spring this kind of shit on me without warning.”

 

“I can’t?” Beyoncé taunts. “I just did.”

 

Drake laughs. “Keep it up, things are gonna get worse when I get home, watch.”

 

“Now that you mention it, I think I might just do that.”

  
  



End file.
